


Positively Perfect

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Biting, Conditioning, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Holodecks/Holosuites, Humiliation, In Public, M/M, Masochism, Orders, Orgasm Denial, Painplay, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sexual Fantasy, Threats, Training, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filthy, filthy Cardassian happenings for a dear friend. </p><p>Once on DS9, whilst glancing through the list of holosuite programs, Dukat touches upon one Garak and his dear pet must use: he decides to utilize it with the company of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Positively Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> I've tagged for dub con - please note that this Dukat/Damar is quite _iffy_ in terms of consensuality: firstly, this is written from Dukat's POV, so it's sort of horrible in places, and while Damar **adores** Dukat, he's definitely been conditioned without his knowledge to react in certain ways to certain things, and Dukat is generally the sort of manipulative dickbag one might expect.

Dukat grins as he looks over the list of holosuite programs, noting Garak's identification number a few of the titles, but one stands out, with an innocuous label of BAR PROGRAM II. After all, the registered users appear to be only Garak and his pet doctor, and he knows what that means: Elim Garak always was somewhat particular in his desires.

“Ah,” Quark says awkwardly, and he peers up at Dukat – so short is the curious little Ferengi, and Dukat shifts his eyeridges, displeased at the precursor to refusal. “that's a private program of-”

“Quark,” Dukat retorts, tone positively dangerous, and Quark nods his head hurriedly, weasely little eyes wide, letting Dukat move up to the holosuite to have a look.

It's written after Quark's bar itself, intended to mimic the same shape and furniture – there are no people modelled after those in Quark's, presumably because Garak's soft pet objected, but instead forty or fifty strangers to walk through as Garak treats Bashir as he pleases... Such a pretty, soft little thing, and Garak has selected well, despite his often lacking taste – but he's not picked so well as Dukat has.

Dukat glances through the program's routine, considering it carefully – the denizens of the not-Quark's bar will react very well indeed to his pet, and he is excited to humiliate his first officer appropriately--

Oh, but what is _that_? Dukat smirks as his gaze moves swiftly over the code in the subroutine. An extra treat for Bashir, certainly, but it will be an extra torture for Damar.

\---

“We have three hours to play,” Dukat purrs into Damar's ear as they move up the stairs, one hand comfortably upon Damar's hip: Damar wriggles, trying to pull away from him, but Dukat grasps him by the back and drags him close, wrapping his arms strong about the other's belly and holding him close so that he can bite at the ridges of the other's neck. “Don't you _dare_ run away from me.” He holds Damar so very tightly he could easily cause the other man damage, and he feels the way Damar lets out a soft and nearly whimpering sigh.

“There were people, Dukat, they could see-”

“Do I care?” Damar takes in a heady breath as Dukat cups his crotch through the tight-fitted fabric of his uniform trousers, feeling him slightly everted and damp against the fabric: he resists the urge to laugh at how pathetic Damar is. “Besides, you'll need to be used to people, Damar.”

He feels Damar stiffen when Dukat snaps his fingers, and then he hears the sharp noise of protest as all the people written into the program appear, milling about; some of them are seated at tables, some of them are at the bar. A place has been cleared in the middle of the room where usually a dabo table sits, intentionally selected by Garak, Dukat expects, to draw as many eyes in the room as possible.

Dukat glances up to the top balcony of the bar, where he sees a familiarly clad fellow, and he smirks against Damar's neck, feeling immediate satisfaction.

“Take your clothes off.” Dukat orders as they move towards the little table, where twin glasses of kanar wait for them: as expected, Damar's pretty eyes go wide, and he drinks the whole of the glass in one swallow. Dukat shows his teeth, and he continues to look expectant as Damar fidgets from one foot to the other.

“I'm not going to-”

“Why not, Damar? They're not real people,” Dukat coaxes as his hands slide forwards, unfastening the other's tunic and letting it drop aside, and Damar shies away as murmurs and mutters are plain around the bar and a dozen glances are sent their way. Dukat slides his fingers forwards and let them drag over the scales of the other man's softened underbelly.

He has Damar very well trained, after all, and the gentle touch all but affects him to arch like some Bajoran bedwarmer. He's starved his fellow Cardassian of almost all touch for the last week or so, and now Damar is as desperate for touch as he can be: like this, wanting as he is for any attention whether it's painful or pleasurable, he's very, very easy to sculpt.

“Fine,” Damar says shortly, and immediately Dukat draws his hands away, delighting in the way the other's expression shows his loss. Such a needy little slut: how Dukat enjoys him. His trousers come off after his boots are kicked away, and the holosuite has been warmed for their purposes, so he doesn't shiver or squirm in the cold.

He does however, quaver when others around the bar glance his direction: two Klingons outright STARE, licking their lips lasciviously and laughing as they nudge each other aggressively, and Damar quakes.

“Dukat-”

“Bend over the table.” The order comes lowly, resonant on the air, and Damar closes his eyes for a second (such a marvelous display of weakness, because he always submits to Dukat in the end), before he puts his hands flat on the table. Dukat reaches out, straightens his hips, spreads his thighs: Damar's cock, everted and wet and dripping at the head. He's always so aroused when Dukat gives him certain orders, even if his PRIDE is injured in obeying them.

Dukat reaches out, letting two fingers touch the base of the other's cock and then curling inwards slightly, pressing at the well-lubricated crease, and Damar grunts, his thick thighs shaking: he's so needy for the barest touch, and Dukat can't help but he satisfied at seeing him so hard and so uncomfortable.

Nothing is more pleasing than seeing Damar in pain.

Dukat glances at movement on the balcony: ah, yes, he's coming down now. Well, for now, he just needs Damar to be a little more--

Flustered.

He grabs the other Cardassian by the hips and abruptly pulls him back, flipping him onto his back on the table, and Damar tries to throw him off but Dukat has his hands pinned to his belly in a second, grinning down at him as he leans closer and offering the ghost of a kiss. Damar's expression softens with want, and he leans in close, his lips barely an inch from Dukat's own, but Dukat will hardly reward him yet, when a performance is yet to occur.

“Touch yourself, Damar.” Dukat's order is low, his voice intentionally rich and husky, and Damar is so plainly reluctant, so obviously does not want to obey – the Klingons are laughing, three Bajorans watching in wide-eyed awe, a few Ferengi taking bets on when the Cardassian will come in his place – but he does, one hand moving to wrap around his cock, dark purple where it lies between his legs. Damar bites hard on his own lip, intentionally holding back a moan.

He speaks so little when they're together like this, focused as he is on his own cock and on Dukat (of course), but Dukat knows he'll speak in a minute.

“Garak,” Dukat says with false pleasantry. “how lovely to see you.”

“And you, Dukat,” the electronic Garak says with similar falseness to his tones: he must have been programmed so that Garak could please his pet with four hands rather than two, but he will do well for Dukat's purposes as well. “I take it Damar is the unfortunate slave to your whims?” He speaks as haughtily as the real Garak does, and Dukat laughs, watching the other Cardassian sit at one of the chairs, watching Damar with an unflinching gaze.

“Duk-Duk-”

“More, Damar,” Dukat orders stiffly, looking down at him in an exacting fashion, and Damar's eyes flicker to Garak for a second. Well, that won't do at all. Dukat pinches the soft scales on the innermost part of Damar's thighs, and he keens, arching into the touch: once upon a time, when Damar hardly knew Dukat and the other man was a curiosity, he had flinched away from all pain, but now Dukat has him wrapped about his fingers, and he presses for any touch laid upon his skin.

Poor, pathetic Damar – he's such a treat for Dukat, when he's in the mood for it.

Damar begins to stroke himself with speed, hand swift on the wettened scales of his prick, and his hips shiver on the table: Dukat focuses on prepping his arse, ready to press four fingers into him and twist until he screams to be allowed to come before he finishes off.

Damar usually takes a while to beg, but with an audience, why, Dukat's not sure he'll work up the courage to. And that, of course, means that Damar won't come at all – such a shame for him, truly.

He presses the first finger forwards, feels the way Damar shivers and presses back into the touch, and he swiftly adds a second, thinking with satisfaction of how spread Damar looks when Dukat gets to four- oh, and that won't be long, no. Damar isn't nearly so stiff and tight as he once was.

“You'd better fuck me this time.” Damar mutters in his spoilt and grumbling tone, and Dukat responds by sharply pinching the base of his cock, delighting in the way he harshly cries and grasps tightly at the wood of the table.

“I won't do anything I don't feel like, Damar,” Dukat scolds him, and that's true: he had no intention of actually fucking the other Cardassian this evening, as he likes to withhold such treats unless Damar has behaved very well indeed.

“Then I'll leave-” Damar tries to stand up straight, but Dukat is strong, and he throws him back down over the table, watching his cock bounce prettily between his legs as his belly hits the wood.

“You'll take what I give you, Damar,” Dukat is struck with a sudden idea, and he glances at the holo-Garak where he leans in his seat, sipping daintily at his drink and letting his traitor's eyes flicker over Damar's form. “or Garak will fuck you.” Garak meets Dukat's eyes, a small smirk curling at his lips, and Damar lets out a wheezy sound.

“No-”

“Garak fucks you or no one does, Damar.” Dukat purrs the words, and delights in the way he sees the other's body stiffen, because Damar has such a greedy little hole, is so desperate for attention these days, that he's actually considering it. How beautifully, wonderfully pathetic.

“I don't want to be fucked, then.”

“Oh, but you do, Damar,” Dukat says sweetly, and he pulls the other man up, pushing him towards Garak who, as is to be expected, leans back and spreads his legs so that Damar will have somewhere to sit. “You said you wanted to be fucked, and Garak will fuck you just as you please.”

“I don't want this, Dukat, I am not your pet.”

“But you are, Damar,” Dukat replies easily, and he reaches between the other's legs, feeling his cock, hard and wet and pulsing for the touch. He'd not always been so aroused by such things, but Dukat has spent a long while conditioning him to be aroused at what Dukat wants him to be aroused by. “You're my pet, and you want to be fucked. Gently, I'd wager, hm? I expect you want Garak to gently pet your ridges, stroke your cock, fill you so thoroughly and sweetly that you fall asleep on his shoulder.”

Damar hisses, because that is what he wants, and while he doesn't want it from Garak, he wants it so desperately he'll take it from anyone. Even if that anyone is not Dukat.

“Now, Damar. Program, delete Garak's trousers.” They disappear, and Garak's cock is partially everted, not so shamelessly obvious as Damar's own. Dukat can feel himself give a twinge of interest as he thinks of Damar with himself spread on Garak's lap, getting all he wants and craves from precisely the wrong person. Damar is humiliated, Dukat can see, particularly with more laughs and stares coming from around the room, but no one is touching or becoming involved themselves – not yet.

That particular subroutine he will activate when Damar is more used to the attention.

“Into his lap, Damar. Feel him.” Damar hesitates, just for a moment more, and then, head bowed with shame and ridges so purple-dark one could think them the same hue as dark grapes, he steps forwards and straddles Garak, pressing his face against his neck to avoid meeting his gaze. Dukat can't help but smile, smug, at how embarrassed Damar is as he grins himself against Garak's still-clothed belly, as Garak draws himself out and lines himself up with Damar's entrance.

Damar lets out the most desperate little exhalations as he lowers himself onto Garak, and Dukat crouches, watching slick ridge after ridge slide into Damar's entrance, stretching him wider. Damar gasps when he's finally got as much of Garak into him as he wants, and Garak coos at him.

“Oh, soft little thing,” Garak says, and he's mocking, but there's an edge to it, an edge of true softness. Of course, this Garak is programmed for that soft sack of flesh and wide eyes, and Garak would show such weakness for Bashir. Dukat resists the urge to tut. “Come now, you needn't be so upset.”

Dukat watches, arms crossed over his chest, as Garak's fingers, clever and better for clothes than for weaponry, slide from the scales on Damar's thighs up towards his hips and then up his back: his nails dig into the hard flesh there, and Damar grunts, rolling his hips down.

“There. Such a pretty thing, aren't you? Such a whore, but a pretty one--” Dukat feels a twinge of something more than arousal as Damar arches: jealousy. He knows that Garak isn't real, that he's merely a hologram, but he still has a twist of possession run through him: Damar is his, after all, and he's put in a lot of effort in cultivating the other Cardassian. “Do you know, Damar, I should love to have you tied over there, hmm? Arms above your head, body on display, legs spread- and I would bring you to heights of pleasure if you were to be suitably obedient...” Damar squirms, pressing himself down for more of Garak, and he's breathing heavily.

Dukat's eyes narrow and he almost scowls as he regards Garak, dragging his lips over Dukat's first officer's neck.

No. No, that won't do at all.

Dukat throws himself forwards, and he pulls Damar back in an instant, wrenching him from Garak's lap and throwing him on his back over the table again. “Dukat-” Damar is cut off as Dukat undoes his trousers and fucks himself forwards, leaning and biting at the softer scales of Damar's chest and belly and at the ridges on his neck, marking them as best he can.

Damar is left gasping and moaning underneath him, trying to hold back every sound and failing miserably: Dukat is claiming him, laying attention over his entire body, and Damar is falling apart. Dukat looks down at him with a grim pleasure, and then he wraps his right hand around the other's cock, moving quickly over the wet scales, and Damar all but howls.

He's such a terrible Cardassian, really, after all Dukat's training, with how easily he submits and begs and shows his delight like some Bajoran whore, but if Dukat didn't want him that way, he wouldn't have made him so. “Do it.” He orders, and Damar scrabbles for purchase against Dukat's chest, arching his back right off the table as he presses down for more: he does, cock sputtering between them.

Dukat pulls away for a few moments, leaving Damar grumbling for the loss in his place, and he breaks Garak's neck before he can complain, watching the hologram hit the ground before it fades into pixels, and then he returns to Damar, leaning and biting at the scales on the inner parts of his thighs, and Damar spreads them as wide as he can.

“Whore.”

“Please--”

“I am, I am,” Dukat assures him, and he bites down hard again, watching him arch and cry. He had been so intent on denying Damar for a little longer, but he'd have to admit he does look a picture like this, messy and desperate and needy – and he barely pays attention to those around the bar by now. Perfect.

There will, after all, be more time to torture Damar, and while Dukat loves seeing him in pain, he also loves that Damar is his.

When they're done, three hours having passed quite swiftly, in truth, Damar is aching as he climbs back into his clothes, and he leans on Dukat, pressing his entire body and weight against the superior Cardassian's side: it's pitiful, and it's quite gratifying. “Poor thing.” Dukat purrs sweetly into his ear, as if he wasn't entirely responsible for the ache in every one of Damar's muscles. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight, hmm?”

“Yes, yes, Dukat, please, I'll-”

“Too bad.” Damar crumples, and Dukat is pleased with himself as he says: “End programming. And really, Damar, it was only a joke. Of course you may sleep with me.” Damar stands straight again, and although he doesn't grin, trying to maintain his expression as neutral, Dukat can see the pride in his face, the pleasure, the anticipation. And Dukat will allow him inside, to sleep.

At the foot of Dukat's bed, where he belongs.

 


End file.
